


Love Makes a House a Home

by colaboy



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, childhood abuse mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colaboy/pseuds/colaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murkoff's low security lets well known serial killer off the hook and back into society. Waylon if the first to know and the first to be kidnapped after he's released and gets sucked into the delusions of his kidnapper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. house arrest

**Author's Note:**

> Its already pretty heavy from the start so just a warning. I'll add trigger warnings as I go :^)

"Waylon," his therapist started, hands folded neatly in front of her. "I need you to start from the beginning. When you first met Mr. Gluskin." She said the name with caution and peeked at him over her glasses. Waylon simply sighed and tugged at the black band that wrapped around the waist of his dress. The woman adjusted her glasses and sighed.

"Waylon, if you want help you need to-" she was cut off by the man standing, hands balled into fists at his sides and clenching the the tough fabric that laid loosely over his legs.

"I don't need help!" He spat. "Eddie is just as fine a husband as the next, and you accusing him of these such things is frankly offensive!" He didn't normally have a short temper, but giving into the delusions of one Eddie Gluskin gave him the constant need to defend his dear husband.

"He's a good man. _Kind_ unlike you." He sat back down and fixed his dress. "You're just trying to trick me. Make me think he's terrible. I didn't come here to-" he was cut off by the woman taking a deep breath in and resting her hands in front of her again.

"Just start from the beginning. Tell me how you met him."

-+-

Rain was a common occurrence in the past two weeks, and walking back and forth between buildings was rather bothersome. But on a particularly wet Tuesday, Waylon walked out of the building of the west wing of Murkoff dragging his broken umbrella behind him and holding his computer bag over his head, hoping to god nothing bad would happen to his laptop. His main focus was the bus stop, but his thoughts of protection from the downpour wandered when he heard conversation behind him.

Usually, patients weren't let out of this building. Ever. But behind him in the front exit, he heard two men talking and turned his attention to see a man with neatly groomed hair that contrasted his rather casual outfit, which consisted of a white tshirt and baggy greenish blue pants that were given to patients when they first entered the asylum. Next to him was a guard, a stern look plastered on his face.

"I don't want you going out there alone, and I sure as hell ain't followin ya." He said, glancing around.

"Mr. Park!" The man yelled, and Waylon turned around, looking at the two.

He instantly recognized the man with the neatly groomed hair now that he was out of his peripheral view.

News segment after news segment and documentary after documentary he had seen this man's face. Horrible childhood and blurred photos his family took of the poor boy, murdered and mutilated women who didn't have names to him but the one Hollywood star who made his line of dresses famous before he was caught and put into an asylum. The wing specifically for the criminally insane.

Eddie fucking Gluskin.

Waylon ripped himself from his thoughts once more and choked on the spit lingering in his mouth.

"Y-Yes sir?" He choked out. "I uh... Have to catch the bus so-" He tried fighting the stay, both the rain and being in close proximity to a well known serial killer upsetting him, when the guard interrupted him.

"Drive Mr. Gluskin here home. I don't trust him being alone despite those damn doctors." He spoke, glaring at the man who gave a pleasant smile in his direction.

He tried to protest, not feeling comfortable being in such a closed space with the man, when he stepped closer and unfurled an umbrella and brought it over to where he was standing, holding it over the smaller man and not himself.

"Let's just go, dear." He started. "You'll catch your death of cold if you don't get home soon and into some dry clothes." He smiled and started walking, Waylon's legs taking him to the parking lot against his will, following the umbrella that kept the constant downpour off of his shoulders.

It took a minute of walking in silence before they got to Eddie's car, and he opened the door for Waylon. He gladly entered, and looked around. He heard Eddie toss the umbrella into the back seat, Waylon's broken one to follow, humming softly as he did so. Quickly he moved to the front seat as to not get any more wet than he already was. He slammed the door and flicked a few switches on the panel that held what seemed to be much more than window controls and locks. He fished through his pocket for they keys and pulled out few other things before giving off a soft "ah ha!" And sticking them into the ignition.

"Let's get some heat running, shall we? Ah..." He tossed a side glance to Waylon and he took the cue, meekly saying his name.

Eddie turned it over in his mouth a few times as he turned some knobs and hot air blew through the vents.

Waylon, wanting to spend the least amount of time he could with the man, told him how to get to his house and mumbled something about needing to feed the cats before he realized they had long passed the intersection.

"U-uh Eddie? You passed the-"

"Oh I know." He smiled softly. "We're going to my home, Darling." His voice was dripping with sweetness as he began humming again.

"Darling??" Waylon spat out, trying to open the car door.

Locked. From the inside.

He didn't have time to think and starting spitting words brought on by panic at Eddie.

"Let me out!" He yelled, yanking on the handle of the door. "You fucker!"

The car jerked to a stop in front of a large house that was quite apart from the others on the street, others seemingly vacant and run down. His first thought before Eddie spoke up was how Murkoff must have paid for his house while he was detained.

"We don't speak such _vulgarities_ in this family!" He yelled, shifting his body towards Waylon. "If you don't get in line soon..." He sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm sorry, darling. But you simply must behave." He said, leaning back against the seat and watching the rain drip down the glass. "We're going inside, and if you try to run away I'm going to have to punish you, my dear." He turned the car off and shoved the keys back into his pocket. Waylon nodded quickly out of fear. He didn't know what this punishment would entail exactly, but judging by what he had seen on TV so long ago, it would either end it death, rape, or both.

Eddie tossed a soft smile his way and got out of the car, grabbing the non broken umbrella from the back and making his way to Waylon's side and letting him out, roughly grasping his wrist and walking him to the front door.

The inside of his house had that kind of 1950s aesthetic to it. A blocky couch and matching chair, a bowl of fake fruit sitting on the coffee table. Eddie let go of his wrist and locked the door behind him.

"I can trust you not to leave, yes?" He said, taking his hands in his. "I'm going to get you something to wear. You can't stay in wet clothes forever, my dear." He smiled and led him to the couch and flipped a light switch, bathing the room in a soft homey glow before he walked upstairs.

Waylon sat in silence as he looked around the living room. It was all so surreal to him. He knew if he left shit would hit the fan. Eddie was a murderer, and clearly still having such tendencies, so acting against him could be potentially very dangerous.

Before he realized it quite a few minutes had passed of staring into space and thinking when Eddie walked back in and held out a hand.

His hair was once again combed back after being curled by the rain, and he wore a dress shirt and pants. It was very professional for such a man as himself. They weren't leaving anywhere were they? Waylon jumped and took his hand lightly, being lifted from the couch and walked upstairs.

The upstairs was just as old fashioned as the downstairs. The bedroom he was heading into had two beds set side by side, two closets, and a vanity sat by a window. Waylon gulped, realizing he was standing in the room where 16 women were drugged before being dragged into the kitchen to be-

He cut his own thoughts off when Eddie spoke up.

"There's a closet full of clothes and you can pick out whatever you want." He smiled gently. "Go on, darling."

But his gentle tone turned to concern when Waylon just looked nervously down at his feet.

"Oh you're worried, is that it?" He turned to him and lifted his chin, placing his a large hand on his face. Waylon shivered under his touch in silent panic.

"Now Waylon, I know you're a shy girl." He smiled and moved his other hand to the other side of his face. "But you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm only here to love you and treat you like the royalty you deserve to be treated."

He wanted to cry. He wanted to sob and scream and call the police. He wanted the man to be forced back into the asylum and he wanted to go home and sleep. Sleep for days if he had to. This was all too much for such a short amount of time. But he didn't. His face didn't waver as he nodded and Eddie slowly lowered his hands from his face and smiled.

"Go on then." He said, motioning towards the closet next to what he assumed was his side of the room. He walked softly on the carpet, clothes still dripping wet, and stepped into the closet.

lining the metal pipe on the wall were dresses, and a good number of them too. Different lengths and patterns and styles. He stepped further in, running his hand along the length of a cream dress, hooking his fingers under the collar. It was nice, he wouldn't lie, but the idea of being in one of these dresses scared him. He didn't want to give into Eddie's delusions.

"I made them myself, you know." Eddie said softly, leaning against the door frame. "Dresses are still quite a passion of mine. I've been making and designing them since I was just a little boy." His voice was calm and filled with nostalgia. Waylon shook as he took the dress off the hook and gripped the fabric in his hands and walking back to the door. Eddie smiled and planted a soft kiss on Waylon's cheek before standing and stepping aside with a quick "I'll let you change." And closed the door behind him.

Waylon broke down. He sat on the edge of one of the beds and sobbed onto his hands. This was all so much. Too much. One minute he's writing code for some project no one will give out details of, the next he's holding a dress and being coddled by a murderer who acted like they knew each other their whole lives.

He wondered if he'd die like the girls. Like the Hollywood star. Like the florist. The barista.

He wondered if he'd be the break in the chain. The difference.

He stopped sobbing and stood, looking at himself in the vanity mirror and whispering a bile soaked "fuck it" before yanking off his clothes.

He found a pair of Eddie's boxers in the drawer, too large for him, but left him with some sense of masculinity under the dress.

The dress fit him surprisingly well, and complimented his frame quite well. But the sight of him in the mirror made him sick, so he turned and headed for the door, quickly slipping on a pair of flats.

He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through this, but playing along for now would be a good start.

 


	2. chop chop chop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading this right after the first chapter Hope its a good idea ;;

When Waylon walked back down the carpeted stairs, Eddie was sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette. The room was filled with the scent of it all. Newports?

He didn't have time to process much before Eddie set down the cigarette into an ashtray, the ashes already in it snuffing it out with a puff of smoke, and stepping out in front of Waylon.

"Oh, darling you look _wonderful!_ " He exclaimed, lightly cupping Waylon's face. "Though I must be truthful here, anything could look just as wonderful on you."

Waylon felt himself blush, but not out of shyness, no. Out of embarrassment. This was all so humiliating. Eddie noticed and let out a gentle chuckle before backing up and walking to the couch again and lighting another cigarette.

"Would you come with me, dear?" He said quietly, looking towards the door cautiously. Waylon complied with internalized horror, keeping as straight a face as he could as Eddie took his hand and lead him to the bedroom upstairs.

The room before, when Waylon was alone, felt like it could swallow him up. Like the walls would close in on him and he would disappear into the walls of this horrid place and become another victim of Gluskin by the eyes of the public.

But now felt different and it made him positively ill. Being in the room with Eddie felt warm and homely. Waylon knew if he was on the outside he would think they were a happy couple living an average life.

But from the inside it was different.

He shoved the feelings away and stared up at the man next to him, awaiting the explanation he got after several seconds of him twisting the cigarette in his mouth.

"I need you to stay in here for a while. It won't be long, mind you, but it needs to be done." He sighed. "I'm having someone deliver groceries for dinner tonight." He put out the cigarette in the ashtray on Waylon's vanity and fixed his tie. "I hope you don't mind, darling. But I can't have them seeing you. If they do, they won't let you stay here. Its for your own good." He left a gentle kiss on Waylon's cheek and left the room, locking a bolt on the outside of the door with a gentle click.

The click was haunting. It rang through his head again and again. He knew what Eddie was trying to do.

He wasn't a psych major or anything, but back in Berkeley he took a psychology class as a requirement for working at Murkoff. He knew enough to know what Stockholm syndrome was. He knew that if he let his guard down, Eddie could worm in like a parasite into his head. Fuck with him. If he could hold onto his sanity long enough he could make a break for it. For now, this is all he had.

In the time it took for Eddie to finish whatever it was he was doing, Waylon never heard conversation but assumed it was the stoic people at Murkoff bringing him food, he tried on three other dresses, his favorite being the red dress with white spots, a pearl necklace or two, and tried smoking for the first time since he was seventeen. It wasn't as thrilling as he remembered it being in his teenage mind. The sense of rebellion and spite striking taste into them. Or maybe it was the brand?

He stubbed it out after a single puff of smoke rolled from his lips and dissolved onto the lace covering the vanity. Eddie walked in then with a smile on his face.

"Well, it's getting fairly late." He said checking the time on a clock that sat on the dresser. Seven o'clock. "Shall we start dinner? I have some news as well." He held his hand out which Waylon slowly walked to, placing his hand on top. Eddie gave a content sigh and Waylon shot his eyes up from their hands, looking into his eyes, blue so sharp it could cut through his soul.

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare you, dear." He said with a chuckle, setting his other hand on the side of his face and smiling. "You're just... So beautiful."

The adoration in his voice and eyes and face made him want to vomit. Genuine love leaked from every pore like honey and Waylon didn't like it one bit. He didn't like the the man holding him captive was treating him with such kindness. He didn't want to break, but with such sincere adoration he was showing, he wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold on.

He gave a gentle smile through his thoughts, playing along with his delusions. "Th-thank you, Eddie." He said, looking back down to their hands and acting as shy and flustered as he could manage. His stomach churned.

They made their way downstairs and Eddie took him into the kitchen. It was modestly furnished, with a small table off to one side, a bulky fridge, and generous counter space. Waylon was fond of kitchen spaces, though not being as good a cook as he liked to brag. Due to the small and cramped kitchen in his apartment, he usually lived off ramen noodles and scrambled eggs. At least it was something.

"Now, people came by and dropped by a good amount of food." He glanced at the cabinets, to the fridge, and back to Waylon. "And since you were a very good girl and stayed in our room with no trouble, I'll help you with dinner." He smiled wider. "Then I have some news to share over dinner."

Waylon simply nodded, glad to have help but disappointed he didn't get time to himself. He watched and clutched the skirt of the dress tightly as he watched Eddie pull a chicken from the fridge and set it on the counter and taking potatoes from the top of the fridge.

Waylon took to chopping the potatoes, focusing intently on the knife in his hand as he did so. With each chop of the knife through the potato and onto the cutting board he felt himself becoming more tense. The grip he had around the handle became tighter and his knuckles turned white, movements becoming less smooth.

The only thought on his mind was taking the knife and plunging it deep into Eddie's chest, the only thing keeping him from doing so was a voice deep in the back of his head telling him not to sink to that level.

He feared Eddie. He hated the things he did. He hated that he kidnapped women and murdered them after gaining their trust. He hated seeing his sister cry when her favorite actress was found mutilated in her home and became just another statistic. He hated that the boy he got a number from at the florist was found with his genitals mutilated and semen in his stomach outside an apartment building. He hated that he was in his trap just as much as everyone else. He didn't want to evolve into a killer like the man that stood next to him mixing olive oil and spices in a bowl as calm as ever.

Suddenly he was pulled from his thoughts when a sharp pain shot through his thumb and he let out a quiet whimper. Tears welled in his eyes from both the pain of nicking his thumb and the stress of his own mind racing.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" Eddie asked, taking his attention away from the chicken. His voice was the straw that broke the camel's back. The tears stinging his eyes began to pour out. He choked out big crocodile tears and dropped the knife to the counter, covering his eyes with his arm and letting out sobs that were quiet as ever. Eddie let out a tisk and set the spoon down giving Waylon his full attention.

Waylon wanted to protest when Eddie wrapped his arms around him. He wanted to protest when he hugged him back. He just needed some kind of reassurance in this, even if it was from his kidnapper.

"Shh don't cry, Waylon." He whispered into his hair. "You're alright. Want me to finish this and you can relax? You had a stressful day I'm sure."

Waylon didn't respond. He just sobbed harder and buried his face in his hands, smearing blood on his cheek. Stressful fucking day. He felt like he was being taunted.

After he managed to calm himself a bit, he pulled away and looked at the tear soaked dress shirt in front of him and sniffled, silently sitting in a chair by the counter.

"I'm..sorry." He mumbled, for fear of angering Eddie. He simply shook his head and returned to the food. "You just rest. I'll make dinner tonight."

-+-

Eddie plated the food and set it in front of each of them at the table and poured some wine. Waylon looked at the food, that looked better than he expected.

"It looks delicious, Eddie." Waylon said meekly, poking at the meat with his fork. Eddie smiled and thanked him. They ate in silence for a good while.

Waylon all but chugged the wine.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt this but I've been giddy since you got here." Eddie started, shifting around slightly, facing Waylon who shivered at the touch of their knees. "Now I know how er... Inappropriate it is for a man and a woman to live together when not married, so I figured," he reached into an inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small black box, opening it to reveal a delicate silver ring. Quite modest.

Waylon felt bile and the chicken he just consumed rise in the back of his throat. In a mere matter of hours Waylon had managed to fuck up his life so badly he didn't even know how to feel. He didn't even know how he could get out of this alive. Eddie's threat when he first arrived to his own personal hell on earth rang inside his skull like a bell. He knew he should have made some kind of noise while whoever was downstairs an hour ago was there. If he had just shifted a little more on the carpet or called for help somebody would have known he was up there.

He fell into a daze as Eddie slipped the ring onto his finger, and the next thing he knew the world around him fell into blackness.

 


	3. breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For one, I'm sorry this took so long to write. I am such a procrastinator at this kind of thing. (In my defense bioshock is addictive) also important note! Way is in fact trangender in this fic. Trying not to make a huge deal out of it but I does contribute to a huge part I have planned in a future chapter!

When Waylon woke up he was lying on the couch, arms placed neatly over his waist. He considered sitting up, but instead turned his head to the old TV set across from the couch. He didn't know much about the show itself, but he knew it was I love Lucy. The laugh track played as the redhead sang some song she apparently learned as a child from the inside of a vaudeville trunk.

His eyes wandered from the TV set to the armchair where Eddie sat, focused on a crossword puzzle in his lap and humming along with the out of tune singing on the TV set.

_Fly in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo._

Waylon took a deep breath in and Eddie turned his head to check and hummed softly.

"Ah, you're awake." He said, setting the paper aside and moving from his seat to kneel next to the couch by Waylon. "Are you alright, dear? You've been acting strangely all day." He asked calmly. Waylon slowly propped himself up onto his elbows and nodded.

"I'm just not feeling well. I had a...stressful day. Like you said." He choked out, looking down at the ring on his finger and gulping. Stressful was a light way of putting it, and if anything he felt as if it downplayed the issues at hand. He looked from his hand to Eddie who smiled serenely at the ring.

"Well I know what'll cheer you up." He said, standing and fixing his suit jacket. Waylon resisted sighing and swung his legs over the side of the couch and fixed the skirt of his dress. He felt light and dazed.

"I figured that the wedding should be as soon as possible." He started, looking out of one of the windows at the sky that still mercilessly poured rain over Leadville. He sighed and started again. "I'd rather we do it when it's not raining, but it doubt that'll happen any time soon." He held out a hand and Waylon took it, leaning more on it than he should have to stand up. He wavered in place for a second before falling forward onto Eddie. He still felt woozy and sick from both the fall and possible concussion, and the confusion of the entire situation. He tried to push himself away but only pushed his face deeper into Eddie's chest.

"Oh dear, are you sure you're alright?" Eddie asked, rubbing his fiancé's back lightly and breathing into her hair. "Why don't we get you to bed. We can talk about the wedding when you're more awake." He kissed the top of Waylon's head and gently lifted her off his chest and led her to their bedroom.

-+-

Waylon awoke with a start and sat up, not recognizing the room around him for a moment, but then took a minute to take in his surroundings.

The bedroom was dark and silent except for the soft rain still pelting at the windows. He looked to his left to see Eddie sound asleep in the bed next to him and he gave a silent sigh of reliefrelief,  but wondered why there were two separate beds. He knew Eddie was a man of tradition or whatever this was called, but he seemed quite attached to Waylon.

If he was going to be completely honest with himself, he found Eddie attractive physically. It was strange, not normally being attracted to older men, but he thought if situations were better he might have considered at least making acquaintances with the man. He wondered if he pretended these were the circumstances that maybe he could make it through this with a little less stress. He noticed after a while of staring and thinking about Eddie and his situation, that he wasn't wearing the dress from before. He felt flannel sleeves over most of his hands and if he wasn't mistaken, he wasn't wearing anything with a skirt, but pants. He knew Eddie had changed his clothes while he was either still dazed or passed out again. The idea made him absolutely ill.

He lied back down and turned to face the wall, closing his eyes tight. He just had to pretend that this wasn't happening. That he hadn't been kidnapped and that he was here by his own choice.

He started drifting back to sleep and thinking about what his life would have been like if he dated that girl from Berkeley or the florist. He wondered if they would have lived somewhere other than Colorado or he worked anywhere else but Murkoff and this could have been avoided. He wondered if Lisa had the same phone number she did in highschool.

-+-

The sun leaked through the window and nearly blinded him when he was woken up by a gentle kiss on his cheek. He stirred, head pounding and spinning still from his fall. Slowly he turned his head to see Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed and smiling.

"Good morning, darling." He said softly. "Late sleeper?" Waylon nodded and shifted into his back, glancing over at the man sitting by him. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of a fan. He felt oddly calm despite everything. He would fight against it, but he feared his own thoughts would only make his head worse.

"Why don't you get up and make us some breakfast so we can plan for the wedding, hm?" He stood and peeled the blanket off of Waylon, who shivered at the cooler air around him, but got to his feet.

"I'll let you get dressed." He said with a soft kiss on the smaller man's forehead. And with that, he left.

Waylon stood in the same place for a while, lost in thought. His mind drifted from weddings to rain to the sound the lock made to his cat to his kitchen to his-

He choked up, knees locking and heart skipping rope. He can't take any of his medication.

He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his heart. _'Don't worry, Way.'_ He thought to himself as he walked to the closet, and pulled out a dress without much thought of which one he was taking and and unhooked the hanger. _'It was just one day. One day couldnt have changed anything.'_

He set the dress on the bed, letting the gray fabric drip onto the floor, and began unbuttoning the shirt he was in and turning to the mirror and, sighing.

He didn't want to live a life like this. The idea of going through with the wedding genuinely scared him. It felt like some last destination, and if he didn't get out before he would be trapped in Gluskin's net forever.

As he yanked off the pajama pants, reluctantly looking down to see Eddie had changed him into a pair of panties while unconscious, he thought about possible escape plans. He wondered if the wedding would be in a church and if he could book it while they were outside. He fantasized for a moment about leaving poor old Eddie at the altar and running as fast as his legs could take him all the way back to Murkoff and mount massive, then going home and taking a long shower.

He sighed and pulled on the dress, zipping it up the side and looking into the mirror. This place couldn't keep him forever. There had to be some way out. He ruffled the skirt and slipped on the same pair of shoes, and slowly made his way down the creaking stairs once more.

Eddie was perched in that chair again, reading the newspaper with the TV humming a familiar laugh track of some 60s sitcom he had never watched before. He turned away from the paper when Waylon walked through the door and he smiled, setting his paper down on the coffee table.

"Good morning, dear." He started, standing and making his way to his fiancé, who shifted his feet timidly and picked at his fingernails.

"Good...good morning, Eddie." He said softly, looking up at him. He felt awkward and dizzy, like in a dream. Eddie kissed his cheek and made his way to the kitchen, Waylon following.

"What's for breakfast?" Eddie asked, bending to sit down at the table. "I'm fine with anything, as long as you are." He smiled and Waylon felt a shiver spread over his body.

This felt just too mundane. Aren't kidnappers supposed to be cruel? Why is Eddie Gluskin, rapist and murderer Eddie Gluskin, treating him with such kindness?

He walked carefully to the fridge and opened it, grabbing the first few things that looked like breakfast foods, eggs and some kind of meat, and proceeded to prepare them. As he whisked the eggs and fried the meat, Eddie started up a conversation.

"So, darling, I was thinking about the wedding this morning and I had a thought." He turned in his chair to watch Waylon mix the eggs into the pan with the meat. "Now you know how I am, and I'd love to be surprised at how lovely you'll look in your wedding dress, but I got an idea. What if I made the dress myself?" He asked the question and propped himself against the table on one arm. Waylon folded the omelette and gripped the spatula white knuckle hard.

"I... Guess that's really your choice." He said, quiet as ever. "You're the-" he swallowed the bile that didn't quite creep up his throat. "You're the man of the house, after all." He cut the omelet in half and slid it onto two plates and grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. They ate quietly for a while before Eddie spoke up again.

"I talked to Father Martin today on the phone, and he said he'd be glad to perform the ceremony." He smiled and took a sip from his glass of orange juice. "I'd like a quiet one, not too many people, if any. Come to think of it I doubt any of my family would really come."

He sighed and took the last bite of egg off the plate and stood, looking down at Waylon and frowning.

"Why, darling, you've barely touched your food!" He said softly, but it still startled Way.

"I guess I'm just not hungry this morning. I'll eat at lunch." He said softly, looking down and playing with the skirt of his dress. Eddie still frowned, leaning down to peck him on the cheek.

"Are you well enough to clean up?" He asked, setting a hand in his shoulder and tenderly rubbing his thumb over his collar bone. Waylon nodded his head slowly. Eddie set the back of his hand over Waylon's cheek for a moment, before departing from the kitchen, and leaving his bride to be to her own devices, much to his own guilt.

-+-

Eddie walked into the living room and sat on the couch, letting out a deep sigh, but weather it was out of bliss or discontempt, he couldn't tell. On one hand, he was worried she might be getting sick so close to the wedding. Or maybe it was just nerves? She was quite the nervous girl, it seemed. But on the other she was behaving quite well. It could be her shyness, true, but she was an obedient young lady, and he was proud. He smiled and gave a distant hum, thinking of just how beautiful she would look in her wedding gown, and how beautiful she looked in a house dress. He lit a cigarette and pulled his paper off the table, starting to read once more, or at least trying. Every now and then his thoughts would wander to his hopes of a successful wedding. Something quiet and calm, charming and simple, no lobotomy or sedation needed.


	4. Camillo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit rushed. I just couldn't stand writing it anymore. But I'd like to thank all of you for your nice comments! Its really keeping me on this project.  
> Trigger warning for physical abuse.

Waylon stumbled out of the kitchen with dish water soaked hands and a tear soaked face. He silently made his way to the couch and sat down as close to the arm as he could, pressing his shoulder into the cushion. Eddie gave a pleasant smile and reached over to touch his shoulder, to which he flinched at. Eddie frowned and withdrew his hand.

"Have I hurt you, dear?" He furrowed his brow and scooted closer by meer inches. Waylon withdrew deeper into the arm of the couch and clutched the skirt of his dress.

"No I'm just." He bit his lip and wondered if this would work. "I'm just not sure if..." He trailed off and Eddie heaved understanding but irritated sigh, standing and crouching in front of Waylon and taking his hands in his own.

"You can tell me, darling. There's nothing to be afraid of." He said soothingly, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of the smaller hands he held, attempting to calm down his dear fiancé. He began to shake and shiver out of fear, jerking his head to the left once in a nervous tic but slowly bringing his voice back to volume.

"I'm just not sure if I'm quite ready for the wedding yet. Everything is just happening so quickly that I-"

He was so focused on not stuttering or fumbling with his words that he didn't notice Eddie lift himself to his feet. This wedding was going to go exactly how he planned if he had anything to do with it. And he wasn't going to risk any basement medical procedures in the process. He was going to keep Waylon alive as long as he could. He loved her, he thought. He was doing this out of love. To shape her into the woman she was meant to be. To put her into her place.

Waylon didn't notice anything had happened until his right cheek began to burn. He cried out and looked up at Eddie, who's arm was still crossed over his chest from the strike to his face. Waylon stammered and sputtered, eyes welling with thick, crocodile tears. He felt betrayed in a way, but convinced himself the crying was from the pain.

"The wedding happens when I _say_ it happens!" Eddie's voice rose and he lifted the man's chin roughly with one hand.

"Everything is going exactly to plan. I'm not going to have a _woman_ interfere with how I run things." He growled, letting go of his chin and rubbing his temples with one hand, the other firmly holding his elbow up.

Waylon sniveled and spat lightly as blood dripped slowly down his nose and between his lips. He raised a hand over his face in a feeble attempt to protect himself, the other clutching tightly to the couch cushion.

He knew it would happen at some point, and fight or flight struck in an instant, doing the only thing he thought was right.

His lip quivered, his hands shook, and he clenched his eyes as tight as he could, and let the dams break.

He sat there, sobbing and whining, blubbering out chopped up apologies. Eddie looked down at him, disappointed but guilty. He hated seeing her cry, and this time he knew it was his doing. He sat down and turned to face her, propping one knee on the couch. Careful not to make any quick movements, he yanked a tissue out of the box on the coffee table. Waylon sniffled, clutching both of his arms around his waist and leaning away once more. The tears were still flowing, pearling at the corners of his eyes until they were heavy, then dropping onto his lap. He was still making pitiful whimpering sounds and sputtering under his breath.

Eddie sighed and took the tissue to his lover's face, gently whipping the blood from her lips. He couldn't stand seeing her like this. He knew it was his fault she was crying, yes, but he couldn't help but blame it on something else. She just wasn't disciplined right as a child. That must be it.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper darling, I truly am." He started, plucking another tissue from the box and wiping her tears away. "But you simply must behave. This house runs by my rules." Waylon nodded quickly, biting his lip as another wave of tears trickled down his cheeks. Eddie bent forward and kissed a few away, oh so gently.

"How can I make this up to you?" He whispered, leaning back and taking his hands into his own. "A new dress? New furs?" A gentle smile spread across his face, but Waylon looked away, slowly starting to speak.

"I'd really... Really like it if you moved the wedding." He said quietly, squinting and looking with a side glance at Eddie, who sighed and rubbed the back of his hands with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, but the date has already been set with the church for next Sunday." He frowned, and they sat in silence for a moment before perking up.

"You wait here, dear. I won't be gone more than ten minutes." He said, standing. "Promise me you won't leave?" His question seemed more like a statement. Stern and cold. Waylon nodded, sniffling and wrapping his arms around himself again. Eddie kissed the top of his head, grabbed his coat from the closet, and with that he left.

Outside, he locked the main lock, then locked a bolt from the outside, ensuring that his love wouldn't leave the house. He knew there was no other way for her to leave, he had plenty of practice.

-+-

Waylon sat on the couch crying for a while before he felt like he needed to do something. He stood, straightened his dress, and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Soon after he straightened up a bit, watering plants, dusting knick knacks, and even organizing the old, clunky fridge.

Keeping himself busy always seemed to be a coping mechanism for him. During his time at Berkeley he would often clean his small apartment corner to corner while memorizing lines of code for a final. It was his thing. Cleaning was a way to organize his thoughts.

He moved to the living room next, mostly dusting and straightening pictures. He looked at the old feather duster in his hand, rolling the faded black painted wood in his palm, deep in thought. This definitely felt like this was going to be his life now. Suddenly a thought hit him, and he turned to the old, black rotary phone next to a desk. He quickly stumbled to it, turning the dial to the first number he could think of. Not even a dial tone. He sighed and slammed the phone back down onto the hook.

He took to exploring the house at this point, though he didn't dare tread into the basement. He didn't want to think about what had gone on down there.

He put the thoughts of the room away, and pulled himself up the stairs. Ahead of him was the bedroom, to the right were two doors, the left was one. He headed to the single door and slowly wrapped his hands around the knob. He wasn't sure why he was so afraid, clearly Eddie was clean. If anything happened in this room he would have cleaned it up. Slowly, he pushed the door open.

A nursery.

Crib, shelves of toys, an open closet full of tiny dresses and shoes and trousers. He shuddered and gripped the doorframe to steady himself, knees going weak.

Not only did Eddie want to get married. He wanted kids. His hands trembled as he stepped into the room and looked around. Everything seemed to be covered in a thin layer of dust and the corners seemed to be caked with cobwebs. In all honesty, it was sad. Eddie wanted kids, probably so he could treat them better than his own parents, he assumed.

He slowly padded into the room and sat down in a rocking chair that sat near a shelf filled with old books. He just needed to take this all in for a moment. He knew, most likely after the wedding, Eddie was going to try and-

He gulped and wrapped his arms around his waist again. So many thoughts raced through his head. The idea of pregnancy always horrified him, as well as the idea of sex.

Even worse, the idea that Eddie already knew his little secret from when he changed his clothes in his sleep.

A pleasant fucking surprise.

He jumped when he heard the door downstairs unlock, and quickly and quietly moved from the nursery to the bedroom. He sat at the vanity and acted like he was doing his hair. He got a bit of hairspray in his mouth when Eddie called from downstairs, spitting and coughing from the bitterness.

"Waylon, darling? I'm home!" He called, hanging his coat back on the hook and holding the small, white box behind his back. Waylon tussled his hair, hands sticking in the now tacky substance that coated it, yelling as loud as he could manage a quick "I'm in the bedroom!" Before looking back to the mirror. He tossed around the curls of his hair in an attempt to make it look like he had been in there for longer than a moment. There was a soft knock on the door before it creaked open and Eddie stepped in.

“I’m sorry for making you cry, my dear. Will…” He trailed off, taking the small white box from behind his back and pushing it towards Waylon. “This make it up?” A small smile spread across his face while Waylon took the box into his hands. He drummed his fingers over the cardboard and a minimal amount of dust flew into the air and speckled the soft light pouring through the window. He cleared his throat and looked up at Eddie again before taking off the lid.

Inside was a hard patch of cotton fuzz that was stained yellow with age, and atop it was a peach colored camillo locket. The pale woman’s hair was neatly pulled up and tendrils of hair dripped down her shoulder. Waylon stared at it for a moment in awe before looked back up at Eddie.

“I-Its beautiful, dear. I love it.” He gave a shaky smile and looked back down at it. Eddie kneeled down in front of his bride and spoke as slowly and calmly as he could, and the gentle tone of his voice brought a shiver down Waylon’s spine. Not that of fear, but that of comfort. He felt weak.

“I saw it in the store a few weeks ago on my way to work and all I could think was you. The color really pops with your hair.” He smiled and brought a hand up to waylon’s cheek, the other carefully picking up the locket. Waylon looked at Eddie, and for a moment felt nothing wrong with it. Just Eddie’s striking, diamond cutting, heart racingly blue eyes. Just his large yet careful hand on his cheek, a dull pain spreading behind his eye from the bruise that was already forming.

He almost felt like he was in a trance while Eddie lifted the necklace from the box and unhooked it, laying it slowly around his neck and over his chest. The pendant was cold against his dark skin and he was snapped from his trance.

His face throbbed and he set a few fingers atop the necklace. Eddie’s arms still sat around his neck even after the necklace had been clasped.

He sat, frozen as Eddie looked at him with the utmost adoration.

"Your eyes are absolutely wonderful, Waylon. Green as forests." He pulled his arms away and moved to nuzzle into his neck. Waylon clutched his dress tightly while his fiance left gentle kisses on his neck.

He didn't want to be here right now, but with Eddie's hands on his waist, he couldn't help but feel safe. He tried to imagine anyone else, but he spoke again, pulling away and removing his hands.

"I mustn't mark you up, darling." He smirked, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his ear before whispering.

"We can save that for the wedding day."


	5. attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am unbelievably sorry for the wait! I'm having a lot of trouble writing at the moment but I guess this is something. Sorry I made all of you wait so long for such a short chapter, but I'm gonna try and work my way through this block slowly.  
> Anyway, trigger warning for suicide attempt and vomit.  
> Edit: the formatting of this chapter looks a little off to me? Tell me if this is an issue.

The days seemed to rush past in a blur of tears and bleach.

Eddie would leave the house for the day, to what he called "work", at eight in the morning. He'd wake up Waylon, who would sleepily make breakfast and coffee, then leave the house at eight o'clock sharp, locking Waylon in the house with a peck on the cheek.

During his week alone, he cleaned. It was all he was expected to do. He bleached the floors, scrubbed the counters, dusted every corner. Keeping busy, cleaning, and thinking. Planning, if anything.

Thursday morning, as he rotated sausages in a pan, Eddie started conversation. But this felt different from his usual talk of dresses and coworkers and fussy women who needed a dress for a wedding last minute. The tone in his voice made Waylon's blood run cold as ice.

"Waylon, dear. You know I love you." He started, setting down his coffee cup and sticking the spoon back inside, idly stirring. "But I was wondering, have you been in... One of the rooms upstairs? I'm sure you know which room I'm speaking of..." He tossed a side glance.

Waylon went to whisking eggs with a fork, but didn't answer. He knew the room he was referring to. He found his way to the nursery a second time to clean it up not to long ago, dusting the cobwebs away and polishing the wooden rungs of the crib with as much elbow grease as he could muster.

Eddie turned fully to Waylon, pushing his hands together and tapping his fingers against each other.

"I won't be mad. You did a nice job cleaning, darling. But I didn't want you seeing that room until after the wedding. I wanted it to be a surprise." He gave a light chuckle and turned back to the table, picking up his coffee again. Waylon walked away from the counter and began whisking faster, the fork clinking against the glass.

"Oh believe me dear, I was surprised." He said shakily, walking back to the counter and setting the bowl down, shaking out his left wrist which began to cramp from repeated actions. He fixed the apron around his waist and picked the bowl up again, pouring the egg into the pan with a harsh sizzle. Eddie frowned, taking the mug away from his mouth.

"Did you not like it? I've spent some time on it." He chuckled. "I only want best for our child!" He turned with a small smile, and Waylon tried to reciprocate, but gave about as fake of a smile as he could. With no way of covering how fake it was, he changed the subject by plating the food and setting in front of Eddie.

"You eat up, or you'll be late for work." He sat a seat away, shifting his dress before picking up the fork. Eddie smiled and turned his head to face her.

As he idly poked his eggs, eyes on his dear Waylon. Oblivious to his gaze, she sat, chewing away at the sausage. Her face was so calm and perfect, big brown eyes trained on something against the kitchen wall.

Eddie thought he might die. He had finally found the perfect girl, had he not?

Waylon eventually felt his staring and turned his attention from the wall, shifting awkwardly and clutching the table cloth. Eddie have a soft chuckle and picked up his plate, taking it to the trash and scraping the remains of food into it.

"Dear, if you would, make sure to use a less harsh chemical when cleaning the nursery." He made his way back to Waylon, planting a soft kiss his hair. "Or at least open a window. I don't want you or future children getting ill."

-+-

Waylon's fingers shook as he tried to open the single window in the nursery. He made sure it was unlocked three times now, but the damn thing wouldn't open. He figured it was some jab at mentioning children on Eddie's part, or possibly a hint for him to check the windows.

He figured that all the windows had been sealed shut as a way to keep him inside. Locked away. Only Eddie could leave.

Waylon sighed and let go of the window, shaking out his hands and taking another look around the room before leaving, door ajar for air.

Waylon wondered if he would be able to make it out of this life alive. He wondered if he would have to suffer through Eddie and his constant use of slurs that stirred something in his gut he tried to forget. He wondered if he would have to give into his words and delusions of a life he can't have in this day and age. Become his god damn obedient little house wife.

The idea of it all shook him to the core. Shook him so deep in his gut that he didn't even feel himself dragging his body to the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Dark hair spilling onto his face and body bags under his eyes there no doubt from nervousness rather than lack of sleep. He gripped the side of the mirror and pulled, the cabinet opening with a gentle squeak. Inside he found exactly what he needed, or in the very least wanted.

An assortment of pills ranging from ibuprofen to melatonin to pepto. All with outdated labels which made them all the better.

The picked up the plastic cup set inside the cabinet that held toothbrushes and toothpaste and tossed them carelessly into the sink, filling the cup under the faucet and fumbling to pick up the melatonin.

He felt tears prick in his eyes as he unscrewed the cap. Years of taking multiple medications at once gave him courage to swallow two at a time, eventually downing half the bottle before he began to choke. He sat there for a moment, empty plastic cup dropping into the sink.

This was it. The pounding in his ears and chest was enough for him to muster all his energy and stumble down stairs, high with the stress of the situation.

He tried distracting himself to make the process quicker. There was a decently tuned piano in the living room, but all his lessons as a child escaped him. So there he sat, knees together, hands neatly in his lap, and eyes fixed on the piano keys.

He felt so vulnerable there. Vulnerable and dizzy.

It seemed like an eternity had passed in five minutes when the door lock to the front door behind him clicked, and the door creaked open.

"I'm home early, darling!" He called, stepping inside from the rain. "It was a slow day so they let me out early." He paused and saw Waylon sitting at the piano, idly clicking the heels of his shoes together.

"Waylon, dear? Is something wrong?" He called out gently as ever, moving slowly to the piano. Waylon stirred, but didn't reply. He thought if he did speak, there would be only tears. The lump in his throat was getting no smaller with Eddie closing in on him.

He carefully set a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't respond right away, jumping after a few seconds. Eddie sat down next to him on the bench and held a hand up to his cheek.

"Waylon? Are you feeling alright?" He asked, biting his lip and gently rubbing his thumb on his cheek.

He tried to speak but nothing came out, only a quiet sob. He shook his head and lifted a shaking hand to touch Eddie's. He looked almost afraid, which was a strange sight to see on a man so much larger than he.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" He asked quietly but quickly, turning to put both hands on either side of his bride's face. Waylon choked out more sobs and tried to gather his words the best he good.

"I-I took something." He started, looking up at Eddie who had nothing but confusion in his eyes. "A lot. There were...there were sleeping pills in the cabinet and I-"

Eddie looked absolutely horrified, bringing his hands down from his face to his hands, jerking his body in the process.

"How many?" He asked, trying to remain calm. Waylon only sobbed harder.

"Half the bottle." He squeaked, Eddie gasping and biting his lip in response.

Thinking on his feet he stood, picking Waylon up and carrying him to the bathroom, the whole way he gripped onto Eddie's jacket and sobbed, pleading for him to just let the pills do their job and end it. But Eddie was having none.

Weather it was for genuine affection or a fear of losing another one, he didn't know.

Carefully he sat her down in front of the toilet and rubbed her back, attempting to quiet her sobs.

"I'm doing this for your own good." He said smoothly, tears pricking in his own eyes as he jammed two fingers down her throat with no warning.

Waylon cried out, trying to resist but the inevitable kicked in and he vomited, acid burning his tongue. Eddie once again apologized as he threw up once more, gripping the bowl tightly.

Eventually there was nothing left, and Waylon collapsed onto Eddie, putrid green staining both the collar of his dress and the cuff of Eddie's undershirt. Both were as done with crying as they could be.

So there they sat, collapsed on the bathroom tile, Eddie's hand tracing circles on Waylon's back, and Waylon trying to find his words, trying to apologize.

Everything was happening so quickly. One minute he's trying his hardest to end it, get free from this prison like house, free from this murderer and kidnapper. Next minute he's resting against his chest, horrified that he might lash out.

"I'm sorry." He whispered hoarsely, looking away towards the sink. Eddie shook his head and turned his face towards him, leaving a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Just don't do that again. Please. You scared the daylight out of me." He chuckled and kissed his cheek, to which Waylon shivered at.

His eyelids were heavy and his whole body felt warm in Eddie's arms, and as he stood, taking Waylon into his hold once more and bringing him back downstairs to the couch, he tried to fight the exhaustion.

"Keep your eyes open, darling." Eddie said calmly, sitting his lover up on the couch. "Don't fall asleep yet."


	6. tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was so much of a wait for such a short chapter, but I'm uploading two at a time! Something really stressful that I'd rather not publicly talk about happened recently so that's my excuse for not uploading anything for so long.  
> Thank you all for the nice comments, they all mean a lot.

Waylon's throat burned more and more with each quiet whimper that left his throat, and to Eddie it felt as if his heart were breaking more and more.

He wondered what he could be doing wrong. Clearly she was suffering enough to try and take her own life. He felt horrible as he took the tissue to her face, wiping the snot and bile from her lips. This had never happened before. Maybe she was _too_ different.

He didn't fight the personal attention, out of both fear and out of pure exhaustion. But every gentle brush of the tissue and every calming word from the man in front of him was making everything so much worse.

Gentle talk to think of children. _Their_ children. Their wedding and their future. He knew it was helping Eddie, and he didn't say anything. No matter how much his bones screamed for him to tell him off, he knew he had to stay quiet. At least for his own sake.

The wedding was soon, he knew that much. He couldn’t fight Eddie on the matter, for fear of the beating becoming much worse than just a bloody nose and a bruised cheek. More than anything, he just wanted to home.

Eddie pulled the last tissue away from Waylon's face and set it to the side, turning back to Waylon and gently cupping his face. He looked devastated, scared even. He felt nothing but guilt for his actions at this point.

"Why would you do something like this to yourself? Are you unhappy?" Waylon just shook under his hands, no longer able to cry. He squeezed his eyes tight, and tried to imagine he was somewhere else, because imagining he was here by choice was getting scary. Imagining he, in fact, had known this man for years and not days, had become toxic. If anything, he started believing this were the case.

Eddie began rubbing his thumb over her cheek slowly, leaving small kisses on her forehead. "I'm sorry if I have, darling. I truly am. I will try my best to make things better." His words were soft and reassuring, but Waylon could feel him mentally crossing his fingers. Either that, or Eddie genuinely didn't know his way of helping was killing him.

-+-

Day by day Eddie would talk more and more of the wedding, how he had everything planned but wanted to make it perfect. _He_ was making the dress, _he_ was contacting the pastor, _he_ was putting it all together in the old, charred church down on the street corner. The one that was silent every Sunday.

It seemed he was doing everything but baking the cake, which was a woman's job. And that's what Eddie saw him as now. So, there Waylon sat, at the kitchen table while Eddie was away, licking his fingers and slowly turning the pages of an older than he cookbook.

As he scanned the pages his mind wandered, back to that rainy day. To the large black umbrella and the broken one he dragged behind himself. He wondered how Murkoff would let such a man out. Someone who should have gotten the death sentence for what he has done, or is doing.

Murkoff was shady, yes. They wouldn't let him work on a project they called the engine until he had, quote, "earned it." It seemed wrong, but he stayed in his cramped office, downing a pot of coffee and cranking out lines of code for a project he knew nothing about.

He sighed and guessed that was just how it worked. How Mr.Blaire got a big fancy car and expensive cigars and cocktail parties with trophy wives and he got kidnapped by someone he no doubt let out of that place.

He thought, as he grabbed the pack of cigarettes and matches Eddie left on the kitchen table. If he got out of here alive, no, when he got out, he would sue. Jeremy and all those blue hazmat suit fuckers who put him in this mess. But for now, he lit a cigarette, striking the match on the table, and flipped another brittle page in the book. For now, he needed to play along.


	7. dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too proud of this, but I hope you at least enjoy it.

"It amazes me." Eddie said with a smile, poking idly at his food for a moment. Waylon looked up in slightly confusion, startled almost. Eddie's smile only grew as he spoke again.

"Two more days, and I'm going to be a married man." He beamed, looking back at his food and taking another bite. "And I'll be married to the most perfect woman in the world."

Waylon felt his legs grow tense. With all the planning and still mildly recovering from his suicide attempt physically and mentally, he almost forgot about the wedding.

It all felt unreal. Like the talk of being wed was just that, talk, and it would never actually happen. He would spend his life looking through cookbooks, baking, and playing housewife for Eddie, or until he found his way out of this mess.

But it was friday, and this priest had been contacted once more, and dusty old rings taken from a box shared with an old, washed out photo of a rather pretty middle aged woman.

Eddie finished off his food and brought it to the sink, the abrupt clink of plate against sink brought him out of mild panic for a moment, and Eddie spoke up.

"I suppose we should try on your dress." He said as he wiped the soap from his hands on a towel. Waylon felt himself start to shudder, but went along with it, standing and slowly making his way to Eddie. He forced himself smile and nod, but pleasant emotions, fake or not, faded when he was not taken to the bedroom, but downstairs.

He went into panic mode, but felt Eddie's grip wasn't tight, but a gentle hand on his shoulder, so he stayed as still as he could.

"Where are we going?" He asked slowly, playing with the apron that was still wrapped around his waist. Eddie chuckled and reached a door that seemed off from the rest of the house, brown painted and dented metal and no doorknob, just a lock.

"The basement of course." He said simply, and Waylon nodded. Not putting up a fight. Eddie jammed a key into the lock, which seemed a bit finicky, but pulled it open nonetheless.

The inky darkness below was worrisome, but Waylon was soon relieved when a small chain was yanked and the room, slowly but surely, was bathed in light. Minimal, yes, but he could see no torture devices or dead bodies as his mind projected, but a rather well furnished place.

Sewing machine, a phonograph with a box of records, and dresses upon dresses. It was uneasy, being afraid of mannequins, as well as this would be a perfect place to be locked up if he was out of line, but he pushed any and all intrusive thoughts to the aide. Eddie carefully placed his hands over Waylon's eyes, but felt him shudder under his hands.

"Shh dear it's alright, I just want the dress to be a surprise." He said calmly, but Waylon continued to shake as Eddie guided him down the creaking wooden steps.

He eventually stepped foot into the cold and damp cement room and took a deep breath of the musty air.

"I took measurements while you were asleep," Eddie started, and Waylon bit his lip. "And finished most of it at work." He stepped in front of a mannequin that sat behind a shelf stacked high with fabric and breathed into Waylon's ear.

"Are you ready?" He asked, seemingly giddy. He wanted to say no, because in truth no, he wasn't ready. This just felt too final. But he nodded and gave a quiet "yes".

Eddie carefully removed his hands, and he was taken aback. The dress in front of him, he wouldn't lie, was stunning. But it still gave him a queasy feeling in his chest and stomach. This was too soon. He didn't have enough time to get out this was just too damn soon. He tried pushing down his panic once more but was unable, steadily starting to shake.

His shaking continued as Eddie oh so casually moved behind the brunette, unzipping the back of his dress. Cold and stale air shocked him, and now he couldn't tell which shake and jerk was from the cold and which was from panic. Fingers hooked under the sleeves and slowly pulled off the dress, until Waylon was in nothing but panties.

He felt vulnerable and small. Like Eddie could tap him and he would shatter into a thousand tiny bits.

How did this not feel wrong to Eddie? A man of tradition. A man who degraded women, deemed fine gals whores and sluts for showing a little skin. Yet he saw nothing wrong with Waylon, someone he was not yet wed to, standing nearly naked in front of him.

But Waylon knew what it was. It was power. He knew Eddie could see him violently shaking and ticcing, he could hear every pathetic whimper. And it made him feel powerful, because he had Waylon wrapped around his finger like a silk ribbon. He could make Waylon do anything. So that's what he did.

Slowly he uncinched the corset, making sure not to tear anything, and removing it from the mannequin. "Step into this, would you, darling? I can help you tighten it." He smiled softly, and Waylon complied, taking the dress from Eddie's hands and lowering it to the ground, stepping in.

The whole time, Eddie's eyes didn't leave his dressing bride, and it only made him feel more vulnerable. As if his eyes were burning holes in his skin. Slowly he pulled the dress up over his chest and held it, looking back at Eddie, who did nothing but look for what felt like an eternity.

"Sit down." He pointed to a stool. Waylon quickly nodded and moved to the stool with small steps, hoisting himself onto it. And adjusting the dress around his waist.

This felt wrong. Lewd, even. And Eddie seemed to not notice. Thoughts crowded into his skull, clouding any chance of recovering this time. Something worrying him with every tug of the corset tightening around him.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the thoughts like a knife. Gentle, full of concern, but only making him feel worse.

"Are you alright, dear? You're shaking quilike a leaf." Eddie asked, setting a gentle hand on Waylon's hip. But it only opened the floodgates.

"I just wanna go home..." Waylon whimpered, pressing his face into his hands. "Please... Please let me leave." He felt like he had made a mistake, but at this point he didn't care. He was scared, tired, ill. He wanted to put on actual clothes and get Eddie locked up again. Locked away and hidden where Waylon would never see him again.

Eddie frowned and tried to console his sobbing bride. She must not have been as perfect as he originally thought. But he wasn't about to give up so fast.

Carefully he snaked his arms around her, face pressed into her neck. Still, she sobbed. So he tried something he hadn't in years. Something that worked with time, and he hoped in her fragile state two days would be enough.

Waylon shook and sobbed even with Eddie around him, but listened as Eddie softly spoke behind him. His voice was calm, smooth, but horrifying.

"Remember when we met?" He asked quietly. Waylon didn't reply. "It was raining and I gave you my coat and walked you to a cab, only to see you again at the same rainy street corner the next night? I never did get that jacket back." He beamed, rubbing Waylon's sides gently.

He felt sick. Was this him toying with him? Trying to morph him into his own little play thing? But nonetheless, he began to calm. Picturing a rainy street corner, and a heavy warm coat. He had nothing to hold on to. This felt like something he could touch. As real as the air in his lungs.

"And our first real date, the theater. Front row seats to a play I don't even remember the plot of, because all I was focusing on was how beautiful you were. You with your furs and how wonderful you looked in your dress."

He planted a gentle kiss on Waylon's neck before slowly pulling away, and starting to unlace the dress that had only been half tightened.

"I swear in that moment I had truly fallen in love." He said fondly.

Waylon could see it as well. Velvet seats and the smell of buttered popcorn and an arm around his shoulder. He was calm, yes. Done crying for now. But he felt like he was going to throw up. He told himself he wasn't going to give in, yet here he was.

-+-

Eddie led him from the stool, back up the stairs, and to the bedroom to let him change in peace, leaving him with a kiss at the bedroom door.

As he changed he thought not of escaping, but of how Eddie smelled just like that theater. Sweet as the most expensive cologne and hot as smoke.

At this point, he wanted more than anything to not be afraid. Even if this was his medium. But he was tired, and needed to sleep.

There's still more of the wedding he needs to plan.


	8. Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for physical abuse and very vague rape mention at the end. I really, really didn't want to write a rape scene, so I'm cutting it off at the start. Just a heads up.  
> Thank you so much for your support, kind comments, kudos, all of it. It really means a lot.  
> update: real sorry, probably gonna take a looong break from this fanfic. I just can't find the motive to write it. I will write others though! And I will return!  
> Update 2: not dead! I'm gonna start working on a different eddway fic if you wanna read it. Its based on the I love Lucy au me and my friend have! Very domestic and less... Angsty.

There were no wedding bells. There was no morning sermon. No fan fair or gathering of family and friends.

All there was in this church was a pristine red carpet, Waylon, Eddie, an older man with a wrinkled collar, and the lonely smell of ash and mildew.

Most of the pews had turned to dust, along with everything else. And the soft patter of rain that was slowly seeping through cracks in the ceiling was just as off-putting as the partially melted plastic statue of virgin Mary.

Waylon couldn't cry. He was done crying. Not a tear was shed as the heels of his shoes sank into the now wet red carpet. His face stayed flat, calm, and collected as he could manage through his fear.

Eddie, on the other hand, could barely contain how utterly happy he was at this moment. Finally, after years of trial and error, do-it-yourself lobotomies, and genital correction (as he had come to call it), he was here. A beautiful woman, a beautiful dress, and a beautiful ceremony. Everything was going perfectly.

She was so wonderful, quiet, compliant. Though she did have her kinks that needed ironing out, she was perfect.

Waylon inhaled slowly as he stepped up in front of Eddie, feeling smaller than ever. Eddie towered over him, and even with his pleasant smile and gentle hands, he was nothing but a monster in his own mind.

He tried to focus. Go to a happier place, real or not. To a rainy street corner, the heavy smell of gasoline and cleanliness. To his cats and god anything. Writing line after line of code would be preferable right now.

The priest started speaking but Waylon couldn't hear him, the drumming in his ears picking up more and drowning him out. Eddie didn't see his bride's panic, only her big brown eyes staring up at him, dancing over his face, focusing on the background. He was almost mesmerized by her beauty. He gave an I do, and carefully lifted Waylon's right hand, placing a ring on a slender finger, and he knew this was sealing the deal.

This was it, he was trapped, and he wasn't sure if he was gonna make it out of this now. Soon, it was his turn. He muttered a shaky "I do" and took out the ring he had pressed into his palm, placing it on Eddie's finger. He couldn't even fake a smile. Not when Eddie looked at him with affection and adoration, and not when he felt two fingers dance under his chin, and a pair of rough, gentle lips press against his own.

It felt dirty, the kind you can't shower off.

-+-

Waylon's back ached as Eddie carried him over the threshold of the front door, it was more than a relief to be set down on his feet again. But, as things go, the relief was soon gone when he saw Eddie. The look made him feel sick. He didn't want to be here right now, and the look on his face only filled him with anger.

"Don't look at me like that." He said flatly, voice wavering for only a moment out of fear. Regret washed over him in frozen, salty waves. Eddie cocked his head to one side.

"Excuse me?" He asked, stepping closer. Waylon felt small again.

"I don't like the look you're giving me." He pushed it away. He needed to be strong. "I'm not your fucking wife." He looked Eddie dead in the eyes, lips quivering.

Before he could say anything more, Eddie struck him. His face stung, but he didn't cry.

"Don't you _dare_  say that." He said in a voice that dug into Waylon's very soul. "On the day of our wedding, of all times." He said through his teeth. Waylon was having none of it. Not now. He wasn't going to be the victim. He swore this was the first time he spoke since he got here.

"I'm not your wife!" He raised his voice now. "I'm a person, dammit! You can't keep me locked up on here!" He could feel tears brimming in his eyes, and Eddie grasped his wrist harshly, glaring but not saying a word.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" Waylon screeched and received another harsh slap to the face. That shut him up for a moment, before Eddie began dragging him upstairs.

First, he felt his wrist crack, then he realized where Eddie was taking him. He whispered a short prayer and hoped to whatever higher power above he was gonna live through this.

Eddie shoved him into the bedroom and slammed the door. Waylon cried out in pain, at both his wrist and his fall to the floor. He panicked, looking around the room for anything that could save him, but he was quickly yanked off the ground and spun around, and Eddie began untying the corset of his dress. Fight of flight kicked in.

"E-Eddie my wrist." He said meekly, whispering again, but Eddie said nothing and continued to unlace the dress. "Eddie p-please I think my wrist is broken." Still, no response, and soon the dress was yanked off his body.

Cold, vulnerable, and small once more.

Eddie quickly shoved him down onto one of the beds, holding his hands behind his back, only making the screaming in his bones louder.

"You're my wife, whether you like it or not." He hissed into Waylon's ear.


End file.
